I accepted defeat like a man. "This makes me feel happier," I 
said to our Vicar. "Nothing but 'first' would have suited me, and 
I see now that I couldn't have got in. These flowers beat mine. My 
flowers look like cutlet papers beside these flowers. Who exhibits 
them?" 
The Vicar pointed to an official card, bearing a name what at that 
time was unfamiliar to me. " Who is he? " I asked. 
"Hannikin?" replied the Vicar — "Oh, a rather disreputable per- 
son. A working man. Lives at Blowfield. Something must have 
happened to his soul. Never knew him to grow a potato before, let 
alone a flower. And such flowers! I wish the beggar luck; he de- 
serves it. He's exhibiting again tomorrow at Cookstead." 
A voice which, somehow, sounded quite unlike my voice, was then 
heard to address the Vicar. 
"Is he a middle-aged, pink man, with a fat face and a wheel- 
barrow?" demanded the voice. 
"He is," said the Vicar. "Where are you off to? What's up?" 
"A bloody combat," replied the voice. 
I rushed out of the booth; I scoured the tented field. But Mr. 
Hannikin had fled. "Hannikin?" exclaimed a constable, whom, in 
the last extremity, I consulted, "why, they took him away an hour 
ago in 'is own wheelbarrer." 
There remained to me the comforting thought that tomorrow 
was another day and that at Cookstead there was another pond. I 
went home and dieted. 
But at Cookstead I missed him again. I did, as a matter of fact, 
just see him there. I saw the bald patch on his head as four trium- 
phant convives lifted him into a tax-cart and galloped away at high 
speed. So I again went home and dieted. Next morning, at Blow- 
field, I resumed my search for Mr. Hannikin. I wanted him more 
badly than ever, for, thanks to his inconsiderate treatment of our 
"exhibit," it had only taken second prize at Cookstead. 
At Blowfield I found Mr. Hannikin. I found him in — the ceme- 
tery. On a grave. Toying with a bouquet; a bouquet of sweet peas. 
Our sweet peas, looking very tarnished. 
I approached Mr. Hannikin unexpectedly, and without preface. 
At sight of me he rose to his feet and assumed a defensive attitude, 
waving the Sweet peas wildly. He also spoke: 
"You wouldn't go for to strike a man on God's Acre?" said Mr. 
Hannikin. "And him just putting some blossoms on the grave of his 
pore old aunt?" 
17 
